


proof of conquest

by chaosdunk



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasy Racism, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Public Humiliation, Rape, Size Difference, Tentacle Rape, Voyeurism, exhibition, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:08:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosdunk/pseuds/chaosdunk
Summary: When the son of the underworld's most notorious traitor falls into Mundus's hands, the demon emperor wastes no time in making sure Vergil knows his place.
Relationships: Mundus/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	proof of conquest

**Author's Note:**

> This is horny, corny, pure id fic: please heed the tags. Most of these are pretty straightforward, but the "fantasy racism" tag is for Mundus disparaging the fact Vergil's biracial. Very minor and nothing worse than anything that happens in canon, but it felt a little remiss to not warn for it anyway.

Shards of the Yamato rained down like glass. 

The shock reverberated up Vergil’s arms, jarring so hard he felt it in his bones. He crumpled to the ground, unable to withstand the sheer strength of Mundus’s blow. He struggled to stand, weak and shaky like a fawn, but his body gave out under him, radiating pain. 

“ **Little Sparda** ,” Mundus rumbled, reaching out with a stone hand to crush him to the ground. Ribs began to crack under the unforgiving pressure, his healing factor barely able to keep up against the weight. “ **Such a disappointing display.** ” 

The jeers of the congregating demons echoed in the distance. They’d drawn quite the crowd with their fight—it wasn’t every day someone challenged the demon emperor in his own court.

It wasn’t every day the son of the hated traitor Sparda fell into hell.

Giant fingers curled around Vergil's prone form and lifted him in the palm of the giant stone hand, gentle despite the size. The unexpected mercy was not reassuring. This would not be kind. 

" **This scum dared to raise a hand against me** ," Mundus announced, voice booming as he addressed the crowd. Demons snapped to attention as power rolled from his words, countless eyes staring greedily at Vergil. " **Come and bear witness to the fate of such an arrogant fool.** "

The bloodlust on their faces was plain to see. Sparda may have been beyond their reach, but one of his sons was just as good. 

Countless tendrils erupted from the open crack on Mundus’s chest. They writhed towards Vergil like maggots, reaching for him with a sickening hunger. Vergil desperately thrashed against them, but there were simply too many. Like a hydra, any tentacle he struck down was immediately replaced by another, endlessly regenerated by the demon king's power. Drained, wounded, and beaten down from his battles, it was a simple matter for them to coil around Vergil, trailing up his arms, around his thighs, winding tight against his chest and suspending him before the jeering audience. 

" **Is this the best a half-breed can do? Pathetic. If only your father hadn't tainted his blood with a filthy human.** " 

Unexpected fury flared, hot and impotent. "Don't you dare talk about my mother." 

The tentacles abruptly _squeezed_ , crushing the air out of his lungs. His ribs felt like they were creaking under the strain. Mundus kept up the pressure until black spots danced at the edge of Vergil's vision, and then suddenly let go, leaving him gasping for breath. " **Know your place, child.** "

Everything hurt. Exhaustion battered at his consciousness; a part of him, disgusting and weak and so very human, wanted to lay down and rest, to protect what he could of himself. Even so, dangling from Mundus’s grip, Vergil willed himself to raise his head and spit. "These epithets are getting tiresome. My name is _Vergil_. Remember that when I rip your murderous tongue from your mouth."

Mundus' expression darkened. " **Such ego. I will strip you of that vanity. By the time I am through, even your name will be lost to you. You will be as a blank slate, and I will gift you with purpose anew.** "

The coil wrapped around his throat squeezed, wrenching his head back until all he could see was Mundus staring down at him. There was a lazy indulgence in his eyes as tendrils wrenched Vergil’s limbs open, putting him on display for the roaring crowd.

_What? No. No, he can’t possibly be—_

The mass seethed around him, maddened with want. Tentacles slipped under his clothes and ripped them apart, stroked against his body, tasted and teased in a violent rhythm. The humiliation of it all burned. Every touch left behind a trail of slick that seemed to sink into his skin and light his nerves on fire. The world narrowed to a single, searing point; he couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe—it was too much, all at once. 

“ **Do you feel that, little Sparda? Already you belong to me.** ” 

The weight of Mundus’s authority hung heavy in the air. His will pressed down on Vergil, almost suffocating in its power, a ringing clarion call to _obey_. Before, that power had diffused over the crowd of demons, brushing against him as only a suggestion. Now it laser-focused on him, bringing its full might to bear against him, the pressure abyssal deep. His head throbbed with it, drowning everything else out but the need to _submit_. It felt so natural to bend to it, like a reed buffeted by a storm. It would have been so easy. 

_Fight it. Come on!_

Slowly, painfully, Vergil rasped: “You’re a fool if you think I’ll ever willingly bow to you.” 

Even that little bit of defiance cost him almost more than he could bear.

“ **Your arrogance will be your undoing. This is my domain. I have ruled here for thousands upon thousands of years, seed of Sparda, and I will rule for thousands more. You will break, in time. They all do.** ”

Vergil could look nowhere but the three burning eyes as a tentacle rubbed against him. Back and forth, back and forth, agonizingly slow, slicking him up with that horrible pleasure, its intentions obvious. He tried to jerk away from what was coming, fight against the heavy coils, but the tendrils simply held him closer and drank down his struggles.

“ **In the end, you will _beg_ to submit to me.**”

It pressed into him. Bile rose in his gorge. Inch by inch it wriggled into him with terrible, single minded gentleness. More of the warm slickness coated his insides, lighting him up. He felt it swell and contract, pumping slow and insistent with a sweet burn of friction that made him want to vomit. 

It would have been better if it had simply ripped into him and torn him apart. He could have handled pain. This... this was worse.

Mundus set a punishing pace—not fast or brutal, but rather metronomic and hypnotic, a pulsating rhythm that drowned everything else out. It was impossible to ignore the constant swell and stretch that quested deeper inside, Mundus filling him up with himself. The outline of the tentacle bulged out against his abdomen in a horrifying display of ownership. 

More tendrils fucked against him like he was little more than a piece of meat. Countless limbs thrust insistently against his hands, between his thighs, brave ones daring to slide against his face and mouth. He knew what they wanted. Vergil resolutely kept his mouth shut. 

The fucking—the pressure—the burning shame—Mundus’s will—Vergil could feel bits of himself slipping away, dragged inexorably down by the rush of the riptide current. He clung to the hilt of the Yamato like a lifeline. Blood seeped into the wrappings, staining the white fabric with how tightly he gripped it, but he tried to ground himself in the texture, feeling of the braid against his fingers. He thumbed the guard, trying to take a measure of comfort from its familiar pattern, something real in a wholly unreal situation—

—A thin tentacle slid against his cock. 

_No._

" **You think to retreat into yourself. You think you can endure. There is no escape for you.** "

_No no no no no—_

Vergil choked off a cry. Like the tentacle buried inside him, the one around his cock was gentle. Intimate. More and more of that liquid poured over him, drugging him into uselessness with sheer overstimulation. He could barely think through the electric glide of Mundus’s tentacle over his sensitive shaft, circling over the head, pumping him steadily in time with the thrusts that rocked his body. 

He was so lost in the feeling he didn’t even realize when he’d started moaning. Too late did he realize he’d opened his mouth; a nearby tendril wormed its way into the wet heat of his mouth and lazily began thrusting. He couldn’t even bring himself to bite down. The coil looped around his throat squeezed gently, masturbating the one inside. 

No part of Vergil went unused. Merely a plaything to Mundus’s desires, a tool to be bent to the emperor’s will, entertainment for the demonic masses that reveled in his degradation. For all his power, for all his training, when faced with the monster that killed his mother and destroyed his family, he couldn’t do anything. 

He wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.

He hung on the edge of a precipice, and he knew that if he fell there was no going back. All his senses bent towards the heat knotting in his gut. Desperately he tried to fight off that bright, cresting peak. 

And then a single word, throbbing with power. 

" **Come.** "

His body reacted to the weight of that authority. The response of a servant to its master. The order reverberated within him, branded soul deep, and there was no choice but to obey. 

Vergil screamed; the crowd roared with him. Sensation sizzled down his nerves, pooled in his gut, lit him up with a fire that burned, burned, burned. His hips jerked in Mundus’s hold, thrusting into the countless tentacles that squirmed against him, and cum striped up his stomach and across the coils with the force of his orgasm. Bulges pulsed up the length of the tentacles, relentlessly spilling hot corruption over and inside him. He felt hollowed out and empty, surrounded by the ashes of his immolated pride.

His body was no longer his own.

Those three blazing eyes stared down at him as a tendril stroked Vergil’s cheek. There was no gentleness in that touch, only a malevolent possessiveness.

" **You are mine.** "


End file.
